Perhaps it was only a trick of the light or an overactive imagination, but Lewis could have sworn that he saw a flash of red in Ackerman’s eyes. “Don’t move, or I’ll splatter your brains all over that wall. Where’s Maggie?”
“Where’s Maggie? That’s an intriguing question, Lewis. Where are any of us really? Why are we here? What does it all mean? All very relevant questions, but I never took you for the philosophical type.”
“Shut up, you sick freak! You know damn well what I mean. Where is she?” He considered shooting first and worrying about Maggie later, but the Director would never forgive him if she died.
“Sick freak? Splatter my brains all over the wall? You’re starting to scare me, Lewis. Honestly, is that any way to speak to an old friend?”
“We are not friends. We are not acquaintances. Hell, I doubt we’re even the same species, so just shut your mouth and tell me where she is.”
“How am I supposed to shut my mouth and tell you where she is? If I shut my mouth, I won’t be able to speak.”
“Tell me what you’ve done with Maggie,” Lewis said through gritted teeth. He shook with rage as he spoke.
Ackerman just grinned.
He had endured this long enough. If Ackerman wasn’t going to tell him of his own free will, then he would beat it out of him. He moved toward Ackerman with his gun held at the ready.
Ackerman’s demeanor abruptly changed. His smile faded. “Take another step forward, and she dies.”
Lewis stopped dead in his tracks. As Ackerman’s words sank in, he noticed for the first time that the killer held something in his right hand.
“Drop the gun and step away, or the beautiful Maggie won’t be so beautiful anymore.”
“Drop the gun? You must think that I’m a complete moron. I’m not dropping anything. Show me what you have in your hand.”
“My hand? Oh, yes … this is the remote detonator to the bomb that I’ve strapped to your precious Maggie. If you don’t drop your gun by the time I count to five, I will, as you so elegantly phrased it, splatter her brains all over the wall.”
A frantic wave of defeat washed over him. Ackerman could have been bluffing, but he had already caused one explosion that night. He didn’t have a clear view of what Ackerman held, but he could see enough of it to know that it could be some kind of detonator. He had a gut feeling that this was a trick—but can I wager Maggie’s life on a hunch?
“I tell you what,” Ackerman said. “I’ll make you a deal. You drop your gun, then I’ll drop the detonator. We can finish this like men. Mano-a-mano. No weapons.”
Lewis considered this a moment and decided that he had no choice. He lowered his weapon and placed it on the ground. “Okay. Your turn. Drop the detonator.”
“Detonator?” Ackerman said. “Oh … this?” Ackerman raised his hand to show the item contained in it. “It’s just a garage door opener.”
Ackerman let the false detonator slide from his hand. Before the opener hit the floor, the killer kicked Lewis in the stomach. As Lewis doubled over, Ackerman continued the assault with a punch to the face that knocked Lewis to the floor.
He pulled himself up and turned to confront his insane attacker. Ackerman seemed unbeatable, but he had a surprise of his own—a little treat to help even the odds.
He reached into his pocket and removed the ASP tactical baton. The device was basically a collapsible nightstick that could be compressed into the size of a flashlight. He flicked his wrist down and extended the weapon to its full length. Then, he swung on Ackerman before the madman could react to the new development.
Ackerman sustained a blow to the side and retreated back from the reach of the weapon. “Lewis, you continue to surprise me. I thought we agreed on no weapons.”
Lewis rotated the baton. “What can I say? I cheat.”
Ackerman smiled. “I guess turnabout is fair pl—”
Lewis snatched at the opportunity when he saw it, and before Ackerman could finish speaking, he lunged out and landed a strategic blow to the killer’s right kneecap. The madman fell, and Lewis continued the barrage with several more strikes to the back as he drove Ackerman to the floor.
The adrenaline flooded through him. He was doing it. He was defeating the man who only a moment ago had seemed invincible.
He raised his arm over his head to deal the hardest blow yet to the killer’s most vulnerable area. If the madman died, then so be it, but at the very least, he would be incapacitated.
The baton sliced the air, flying toward Ackerman’s skull. As Lewis brought down the deathblow, he released a guttural scream.
As the final strike traveled like a homing missile to its intended target, Ackerman reached out and caught the nightstick in mid swing. The rage in his eyes burned like the fires of a funeral pyre, ready to accept the sacrifice of flesh.
In one fluid and violent motion, Ackerman twisted the baton and Lewis’s arm with it, regained his feet, and struck a quick succession of rabbit punches into Lewis’s abdomen. Ackerman finished his attack with a powerful head butt that sent Lewis flailing backward. The baton slipped from his grasp.
Lewis wobbled and his knees felt insufficient to hold the weight of a two-year-old. Before he could fall, Ackerman grabbed a handful of his shirt and pounded fist to skull, over and over. The killer finished the barrage and shoved him into the railing that overlooked the stairwell.
Using the rail for stability, Lewis tried to steady himself, but he couldn’t shake the starry sky that crept over his field of vision. He shook his head and looked up to see Ackerman reveal a concealed weapon of his own.
The blade of the knife shimmered in the light of the moon like an ancient weapon with mystical properties, a remnant from an age long forgotten when magic was still alive and flourishing. Ackerman’s eyes seemed to shine as well. The killer slunk forward like a lion about to pounce. “It really has been fun, Lewis, but play time’s over.”
Ackerman charged with the knife.
Lewis grabbed Ackerman’s arm before the knife could be thrust into his abdomen. He held the arm in place while Ackerman tried to drive it home.
He knew now that his pride would cost his life. The truth was that, ever since Marcus had come into the picture, he had been jealous. The Director was his mentor, his friend, and more. He was like a father to him. Despite these facts, there was something in the way that the Director spoke about Marcus that made his blood boil. He sensed somewhere deep inside that his mentor respected Marcus—even as an opponent—more than he would ever respect him. He had made the decision to prove himself, and now he would pay for that choice.
Ackerman pushed the blade closer as Lewis pressed desperately against the advance.
They fought a battle of strength, and he was faring no better than he did in their previous battle of wits. The killer had leverage on him and was using it.
Inch by inch, the blade drew closer.
His face turned red from the strain, and fear lived behind his eyes. He knew now that his life was over. Tears streamed down his face, and he whispered, “No.”
He spoke more to some higher power or presence, praying for help, as opposed to seeking mercy from his adversary. He knew that any cry of mercy would fall on deaf ears.
Ackerman responded to his plea in much the same way a mother hushed her child to sleep. “Shhhhh,” he whispered, and then he made the final push, running the blade through the ineffective protection of the bulletproof vest and into Lewis’s abdomen.
A mask of death fell over his face. He went pale as the cold hands of the reaper crept over him. He thought back on his life and how everything had ended up. He thought of the long road that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
Ackerman jerked the knife up, slicing through his body and ending his life.
The cold night carried him away. He slipped into the darkness and through death’s door, past the boundaries of this world into whatever lay beyond.